ttle zone."

"What started the hostilities this time?" Rand asked, going up the
stairway with her.

"Oh, Geraldine lost Nelda's place-marker out of the Kinsey Report, or
something." She shrugged. "Mainly reaction to Rivers's death. That was a
great blow to all of us; twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of blow. It
was a blow to me, too, but I'm not letting it throw me.... What were you
doing all afternoon?"

"Trying to keep the rest of our prospects out of jail. This
sixteenth-witted District Attorney you have in this county had the idea
he could charge Stephen Gresham with the killing. I had a time talking
him out of it, and I'm still not sure how far I succeeded. And I was
trying to get a line on where those pistols got to."

"Ssssh!" They reached the top of the stairs, and Rand saw Walters
approaching down the hall. "It was Colonel Rand, Walters; I let him in
myself. Are Mr. Varcek and Mr. Dunmore here, yet?"

"Mr. Dunmore is in the library, ma'am, and Mr. Varcek is upstairs, in his
laboratory. Dinner will be ready in three-quarters of an hour."

"Have you mixed the cocktails? You'd better do that. Serve them in about
twenty minutes. And you'd better go up and warn Mr. Varcek not to become
involved in anything messy before dinner."

Walters yes-ma'am'd her and started toward the attic stairway. Rand and
Gladys went into the gunroom; Rand turned to the left, picked a pistol
from the wall, and carried it with him as he guided Gladys toward the
desk in the corner.

"You think Walters stole them?" she asked.

"So far, I'm inclined to. Have you told any of the others, yet?"

"Oh, Lord, no! They'd all be sure that I stole them myself. I'm counting
on you to get them back with as little fuss as possible. Do you think
that was why Rivers was killed? After all, when a lot of valuable pistols
disappear, and a crooked dealer is murdered, I'd expect there to be a
connection."

"There could be. Did you ever hear any stories about Mrs. Rivers and this
young fellow Gillis who works in Rivers's shop?"

Gladys laughed. "Is that rearing its ugly head in public, now?" she
asked. "Well, there's nothing like a good murder to shake the skeletons
out of the closets. Not that this particular skeleton was ever exactly
hidden. The stories are numerous, and somewhat repetitious; Cecil and
Mrs. Rivers would be seen together, at roadhouses and so on, at what they
imagined was a safe distance from Rosemont, and it was said that when